


Consequences

by Son of a Lich (Krazychick10101)



Series: Debauched [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Depictions of Illness, F/M, Fall of Lordaeron, Gen, The Light, faith - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 00:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krazychick10101/pseuds/Son%20of%20a%20Lich
Summary: It was suppose to be a simple scout and report mission.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't needed to understand Entanglement, but it is a little background information.

Erikson breathed in the stale air of Stratholme, gazing down the empty streets. Empty, except for the bodies. Undead and human alike. All had been slain by Prince Arthas, as unbelievable as it sounded. 

“Hey, I found something by the grain storage!” A fellow soldier, Jack, yelled, running up the street, a barrel held tightly in his hands.

The rest of their small platoon came out of the buildings, where they had been searching for survivors. Jack came to a stop in front of Erikson, breathing hard. He set the barrel down.

“What the hell is that?” Erikson asked, “Why is it so important you had to bring it here?” 

“Because! It's still sealed!” Jack exclaimed, “We can bring this back and the Kirin Tor can identify the contaminant!”

“Put it back.” Erik commanded. 

“What, why?” Jack looked at him quizzically.

“Because if we take it with us there's no guarantee we won't be infected.” He said darkly, “I’m not risking your deaths and the infection of the rest of the town for some research for a cure that may not even exist.” 

“But--”

“I said put it back!” He turned to the rest of the men, “Did you find any survivors?” 

“No lieutenant, there's no one here, alive or undead.” Owens, the priest, said. 

As the other men confirmed this, there came the sound of wood cracking, and green smoke billowed from behind them. Erikson’s guts turned cold. 

“Jack--”

“I'm sorry sir it slipped!” 

His eyes were watering, his lungs felt full of dust. He wrenched off his helmet and let out a few hacks, blinking rapidly. His men behind him were doing the same. The world was green and grey until the smoke cleared, and Jack was standing in the center of it, white as a sheet, eyes as wide as a dinner plate. What had he done?

“We’re leaving! We’re going home. We have to tell them Stratholme has fallen.” 

The march back home was not like the march to Stratholme. When they had headed to the city, they had been jovial and almost hyperactive, but now many simply shambled along like walking corpses, shivering in their plate. Many of their eyes were bloodshot and skin was sallow. 

Erikson dropped his sword to the ground and heaved up lunch. He was a little late, many of his men having emptied their stomachs long before. Owens grabbed him by the straps of his breastplate and dragged him back to his feet. 

“Come lieutenant, we’re close, you can do it.” The priest said, despite looking almost as bad as he did. 

They reached the gates, the guards stopping them to question just what the hell had happened. 

“Stratholme has fallen.” Erikson grabbed the guard by the shoulders to keep himself upright, “We were--” he coughed, “--infected..” 

The guard’s eyes went wide. He pushed Erikson off of him and shouted to the other guards. 

“Inform the sergeant! Summon the sisters and Father Enfield!” 

They were directed to barracks outside the walls of their little city, all of them shivering and moaning in ten little beds. Sisters from the church of Holy Light flitted between them, seeing to their needs and attempted to cure them. All attempts seemed to be in vain. 

A familiar sister knelt in front of Erikson’s bed. 

_No no no no not Diane please not her--_

His younger sister smoothed her hand over his forehead, pushing back his sweaty hair. She hummed a lullaby and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“Don't worry Erik, I'll get you better.” 

The warm embrace of the Light flowed from her touch, temporarily soothing him. He wanted to tell her to get out, to turn her back on Lordaeron and run for Stormwind, but he knew she wouldn't leave. There were sick people, and Light knew Diane wouldn't turn her back on them. 

“Diane.” He whispered. “Diane.” He raised his voice, catching her attention. “Where is Lara? Does she have Marilyn and Todd with her?” 

“She wanted to come see you later tod--” 

“No!” 

The force he put behind the word startled his sister, and surprised him. He didn't think he had that much strength left. 

“I don't-- I don't want to risk anything.” 

Diane sighed. “I think you're overreacting, but I'll tell her you don't want visitors at the moment. You'll be fine in a few days, I'm sure.” 

She hadn't seen what he had seen, hadn't found what he had found. She didn't know the plague could kill in minutes or hours, or takes days or weeks. He didn't know how contagious it was or how it spread, only that it came from the green smoke, or those plague cauldrons. 

Erikson passed into a fitful sleep. 

-|-

The barracks were under quarantine. Father Enfield barely showed his face, and several of the sisters didn't show up. Diane was at his bedside, attempting to soothe him. 

“I want you to go Diane.” He muttered. 

“I can't just leave you.” She cooed, “Relax, you'll be okay.” 

He stopped eating, losing his appetite completely and started turning down water as well. Diane managed to get him to take a few meguire sips, but what little he could get down wouldn't stay there for long. 

Pain had taken root in his head and began to snake down his spine and up his arms and legs. It went from a dull throb, to a barely ignorable ache, to a screaming crescendo. Erikson would bite his lip and hold his breath for periods of time before his sister picked up on his pain and washes of the Light came down to relieve him, if only for a moment. 

He didn't sleep the second night. He was kept awake by the pains, the roiling in his stomach and the feeling of something sitting on his chest. He was dying. He could feel it. It was like an unnatural corruption, seeping slowly through his veins.

The morning of the third day, he vomited blood. A small trickle at first, it escalated throughout the day to hacking up globs of congealed muck. He lost what little strength he had left, blood trickling out the corners of his mouth when he coughed. 

He was beginning to lose his coherence, vaguely aware of what was happening around him. Owens died, Jack died. A monk came and requested Diane leave Erikson to his fate. She refused. 

His sister placed a cool compress on his forehead, a lullaby on her lips. He was tired. So tired. So frightened about the next step.

“I'm scared.” He rasped, throat raw from coughing. 

“You'll be okay, I'll fix you.” His sister sounded like she was on the verge of tears. His fevered eyes found her’s and saw they were brimming with unshed tears. 

“Diane, I don't-” he started to cough. Violently. Bloody spittle flew through the air. He lost control of his body and the world was swallowed by darkness, then he was falling, falling, falling…

-|-

Someone was in the doorway. Their silhouette blocking the moonlight. In their right hand, a shovel. 

They said a name. _Whose name?_ His name? Did he have a name? They drew closer. He growled. 

“Erikson, it's me! Diane! I'm so happy to see you're feeling better I thought--” he snapped his jaw at her, she dropped the shovel. He reached forward with arms, _so grey, his arms were so grey_ , seizing her by the shoulders. Unnatural hunger gripped him. Hungry, so hungry. For what? _Bite her. Eat her._

Diane screamed like a banshee as his jaws closed around her thin neck, thrashing against his unresponsive body. She begged and pleaded with a brother who was no longer there.


End file.
